10. When Life Gives You Lemons… and No Olives
10
WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU LEMONS… AND NO OLIVES
“Fuck.”
I rarely swear in English, so the fact that I do makes Leyla look at me in surprise. “Are you alright?”
My parents, Angelo and Angela Russo, have just walked through the door, followed by my cousin, Ginny, and my new cousin, Saffy. Ginny already looks like she’s copped an earful from my mother, and I steel myself for what’s to come.
“ Fanculo! Maledetti tutti! Fanculo !” I mutter under my breath, the Italian curses slipping out naturally as my frustration peaks.
It’s been over two years since I last laid eyes on my parents. After a turbulent breakup with my boyfriend, I hopped on a plane and flew to Bodrum, Türkiye, seeking solace with my cousin, Ginger. While I still speak with my father, my mother has been giving me the cold shoulder, holding me responsible for shattering her dreams of marrying into the affluent Oriati family.
I’ve been mentally preparing myself for this moment, anticipating the hundreds of questions as well as my mother’s disapproval of my lifestyle with Deniz.
Pre-planning and preparation are key when dealing with Angela Russo.
I know without a doubt that breaking up with Luca, my ex-boyfriend, was the right choice. I’ve grown as a person since then, and it’s clear to me now that he and I weren’t meant to be together. Of course, convincing my mother of that is an entirely different challenge!
My life has taken a wonderful turn since I met Deniz. He is, without a doubt, the most incredible man I’ve ever known. Sure, he drives me crazy at times, but his kindness and generosity know no bounds. He even paid for my parents to fly here so they could spend Christmas with us in Istanbul. Let me tell you, no one voluntarily invites Angela Russo anywhere unless they really want to. She can be a LOT to deal with.
Of course, I know Deniz isn’t perfect. His argumentative streak can be frustrating, especially when he insists on debating the smallest details. And his arrogance sometimes gets the better of him, making him seem unapproachable. But beneath that somewhat haughty exterior is a man with a heart of gold, someone who would move mountains for those he loves.
Right now, we are living aboard his yacht, Zeytin , which fittingly means “olive” in Turkish. We share the yacht with his fat, ginger cat, Aslan, who rules our floating home with an iron paw. That cat adores Deniz but has hated me from the first moment he flicked his tail in my direction. I’m still positive he’s trying to kill me. I glance over at the fat cat currently lounging in front of the fireplace, and shake my head. Ugh.
Aslan stretches lazily, his eyes narrowing as he catches my gaze. It’s as if he’s silently plotting his next move. Deniz finds his antics charming, but I know better. This cat has a vendetta against me.
We also share our space with an impressive collection of books that I’ve gathered on our travels.
“Books, books everywhere, and you always complain you’ve got nothing to read,” Deniz often jokes, dodging yet another precarious book avalanche. He’s convinced that when we’re navigating rough seas, it’s not the waves that will get us; it’s the risk of drowning under a tidal wave of books!
Oh yes, the past year has been an exhilarating journey, as we’ve been cruising and exploring the breathtaking Mediterranean. Our days are filled with the thrill of adventure, visiting exotic locations and discovering hidden spots on tiny islands. And when the night falls, we find ourselves indulging in our own intimate adventures below and even above deck under the stars. And boy oh boy, those adventures are something else.
Imagine going from driving a compact car to suddenly handling a sleek, high-performance sports car. That’s the difference. Sex with Luca was like a predictable, lukewarm bath. But after one night with Deniz, I realised what had been missing. He was a wild storm, a breathless rollercoaster ride, and every touch ignited a fire I didn’t know I had. With him, it wasn’t just physical; it was an electric connection that left me craving more, and knowing I’d never settle for anything other than him in my life.
But lately, a restlessness has awakened within me, a quiet yearning for something more in my life. It’s like my soul is whispering, “Psst, hey, you. Yes, you! Time to shake things up a bit!” I know exactly what I want to do next. The only hitch is, I need to muster the courage to discuss my plans with Deniz. And let’s be honest, bringing up a life-altering conversation with your partner is about as appealing as diving headfirst into a pool of jellyfish.
I can’t think about that right now, though, because my parents are here.
Dio aiutami!
“You look fabulous, canim ,” Leyla grins at me, giving me the much-needed boost of confidence for facing my mother. “You can do this!”
I take a deep breath, then another, psyching myself up as I approach my parents with a warm smile.
“Merry Christmas, Mum. Hi, Dad.” I greet them, pulling them into a hug and kissing them on both cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
I take another deep breath, hoping the festive spirit will smooth over any potential drama. “How was your flight?”
My mother gives a curt nod, her eyes scanning the room, undoubtedly noting every detail. “The flight was just awful. How people are expected to do these long-haul flights is beyond me. It was much better in the golden years of flying when a flight to Europe might take 3 days, but you arrive refreshed, not feeling like you’ve been on a cattle train.” Mum starts off with her signature complaining, setting the stage for what will likely be some classic zingers to come. “Is that what you’re wearing for lunch?”
And it begins.
“Yes, Mum.”
I’m wearing a simple blue wool dress, its sleek lines hugging my curves just right. It’s a Dice Kayek, a famous Turkish designer, which has to give me a few points in my favour. The dress may not be festive per se, but it fits me like a glove and makes me feel confident. My blonde hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, highlighting my tan. I expect Mum will mention that I’ve put on a little weight, but honestly, I think it suits me. The extra curves add a vibrant, healthy look, and I feel good in my own skin.
But under my mother’s stern gaze, all that confidence starts to waver. I become the sixteen-year-old girl again, the one who was always trying to fit into the mold of her expectations. Her eyes sweep over me, silently noting every detail—the dress, the ponytail, the extra kilos. I can almost hear her voice in my head, pointing out that black isn’t festive enough, that my hair should be styled more elegantly, that maybe I’ve indulged a bit too much lately.
I stand up a little straighter, trying to shake off the feeling. I remind myself that I’m an adult now, capable of making my own choices and embracing my own style. But it’s hard to completely silence that inner teenager who still wants her approval. I take a deep breath, determined not to let her unspoken criticism ruin my mood. This is my life, my body, and I’m proud of who I am, even if it doesn’t fit her perfect picture.
“I’m just saying it’s not very festive.” My mum hands me her jacket and I can’t help but stifle a giggle at her choice of outfit. Angela is wearing her infamous Christmas dress, a timeless classic, according to her at least. And while I have to admit, it might have been what every 80’s girl’s dreams were made of, with its oversized ruffles and retro Bardot neckline, I can’t help but find it amusing that she’s been donning the same outfit for as long as I can remember.
Yet, despite its repeated appearances, she manages to make it look fresh and stylish each time. Maybe it’s all in the way she carries herself, or maybe it’s simply her unwavering confidence in her choice of attire.
“Oh, Mum, not everyone can make Christmas wrapping look festive.”
I earn a small chuckle from my dad with that remark. He wraps his arm around her waist, his presence a comforting anchor beside her. “You do look stunning in it, amore .”
Angela beams at her husband, then turns to me, raising an eyebrow in a playful challenge. “Your father agrees with me.”
I grin at my father. “Mostly because he’s too scared to argue with you.”
Angelo and Angela Russo have been married for decades, and their playful banter never fails to warm my heart. Despite my mum’s affinity for the iconic red dress, it’s the way she lights up with joy during the holiday season that truly makes her look festive. In her eyes, the dress is more than just an outfit; it’s a symbol of cherished memories and timeless traditions that she holds close to her heart.
Dad interjects, trying to diffuse the situation. “Timeless and classic, just like you, Angie.”
My mum shoots him a playful glare, but I can tell she’s secretly pleased. I shake my head, amused at their antics. Some things never change, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Come and meet everyone.”